Holiday Lights
by suerum
Summary: Jason comes home on Christmas Eve to find the street in front of Harborview Towers blocked off...


Author's Note: I have no rights over the characters of General Hospital

Holiday Lights

Jason blew out his cheeks in frustration as he saw the police sawhorses blocking Harborview Drive just this side of the Tower's underground garages. "What now?" He sighed to himself as a slight prickle of concern wormed its way into his mind. Was Spinelli in or out? He pondered the question while obediently pulling the SUV off to the side of the road and after parking climbed out of the vehicle. "What's up, officer?" He politely inquired, gesturing toward the hindering sawhorses, "I live in Harborview Towers."

"Yeah, so do a lot of people." The officer barely looked at him, his voice gruff with impatience as he looked over Jason's shoulder at the people streaming down the snow covered street and sidewalks toward them. "Sorry about the inconvenience, sir, but the street's blocked to everything but foot traffic for the evening."

"Why?" Jason answered with deceptive mildness as the prickle grew from an offhand thought into a maddening itch.

The policeman shrugged indifferently. "Couldn't say, sir. It's some sort of entertainment venue. All I know is that whoever is responsible filed the appropriate forms to close off the street tonight. So, if you could move along..."

Jason knew full well the only way to scratch that ever increasing itch of worry was to see for himself that everything was normal in the penthouse. Well, as normal as life with Spinelli ever was, he qualified to himself. Really, sometimes he thought the kid could star in his own sitcom on television. Some sort of plot about a zany computer geek who drove his more rational roommate insane on a weekly basis. Still, not even Spinelli could be responsible for having the police block off a major Port Charles artery for the evening, especially not on Christmas Eve of all nights.

Jason looked at the entrance to the garage, as he thought about avoiding the scads of people who were congregating on the street directly in front of his building. He wasn't built for crowds and really he just wanted to go home, open a beer and play a quiet game of pool against himself. Still, contrary to what people thought, Jason Morgan was human and one element of that construct was the indelible imprint of curiosity.

"What the hell," he decided, following in the wake of a quartet of boisterous college students who looked like they needed someone to keep an eye on them anyway. Spinelli couldn't possibly get into any trouble, not with Jason almost at home, just downstairs and out in the street.

"Jason! Yoo hoo!" He looked over to see Mimi and Brock Hunter standing in the forefront of the crowd and waving for him to come join them.

He waved back and made his way through the crowd, finally ending up next to his neighbors. Someone stepped on Mimi's foot and as she gave a gasp of pain, Jason was already reaching out and grabbing the punk by his jacket. It was one of the college kids and he could smell beer wafting across his face.

"Apologize to the lady for stepping on her foot," he said, his voice a low growl.

The kid was keyed up and belligerent, due to the combined effects of the party atmosphere of the street and all the alcohol in his system but one look at Jason's icy eyes caused him to gulp and duck his head in fear. He turned toward Mimi, who had tears of distress in her eyes, "Sorry, Ma'am," he said swallowing, his voice coming out gruff and uncertain. "My fault entirely, I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you all right?" He was actually a nice boy, big and bulky, more than likely a football player.

Mimi smiled at him, her placid disposition reasserting itself as the intense throbbing in her foot died away to a dull ache. "I'm fine, dear," she said as Jason snorted his discontent at her letting the clumsy oaf get away with injuring her so easily. "Accidents happen," she added, saving her gimlet glare for Jason who looked at her with a 'why me?' expression on his face. "Mr. Morgan here is just very protective of his friends. Isn't that right, Jason?" She prompted him toward semi-civilized behavior.

Now, the shoe was on the other foot and Jason shuffled his feet in the snow, feeling about ten years old, "Yeah," he muttered looking at the ground.

"It's Christmas, Jason," Mimi interposed with gentle inexorableness.

Jason looked up at the kid who was starting to smile as he sensed who really held the power in this unlikely trio. One look at the sharp unyielding planes of Jason's face erased the grin as though he no longer even possessed the muscles necessary to smile. "Merry Christmas," Jason said the words through gritted teeth and sealed lips as though they were causing him physical pain.

"Yeah, um Merry Christmas, dude, you too Ma'am, sir." He was already turning away, working his way through the crowd in an effort to put as much distance as possible between him and the crazy guy in the leather jacket.

"Really, Jason," Mimi chided, her eyes belying her scolding words as a wicked amusement flared briefly out. "It was just an accident. They _do_ occur you know."

Jason just looked at her, his lips quirked and his eyes gentle, "Is your foot okay?" He asked with genuine concern, "I can carry you to your apartment, if you need me to."

Brock Hunter hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange. His years in the military had taught him the invaluable lesson of knowing when to intervene and when to let people sort it out for themselves. He knew Mimi and Jason possessed a bond that was unique. Jason adored Mimi and would never let anything happen to her while his wife reciprocated the feeling and liked to feel that she was a refining influence on the young mob enforcer.

Now though, he couldn't control a brief harsh burst of laughter that erupted spontaneously from within him, "Ha!" He chortled. "You'd have as much luck as getting her to leave as you would in picking up that police van over there. She's been prattling on about nothing but this all day long."

"Brock Hunter!" Her voice was sharper than Jason had ever heard it and he felt a brief spurt of sympathy for its recipient but mostly he was just glad her ire wasn't directed at him.

Yet, the Colonel was a braver man than Jason since he just looked at his wife affectionately. Placing a quick peck on her soft, wrinkled cheek, he said equably, "Me too, m'dear. I'm looking forward to it immensely. Eh, what Morgan?" He added expansively, patting Jason on his shoulder.

"What is it that everyone is waiting for?" Jason couldn't hold the question back any longer.

The Hunters just stared at him in dual incomprehension. "But surely…" Mimi began to say when she was interrupted by a loud booming voice proclaiming, "Merry Christmas, Port Charles!"

Jason's jaw dropped he would recognize that voice anywhere, it was Spinelli! "What…" he was turning to the Hunters, confusion writ large on his face but his query was lost in the enormous wall of sound emanating from the crowd around him.

There were echoing shouts of "Merry Christmas!", applause, catcalls and just generic screams of approval for his roommate's greeting.

Just as Jason was going to ask again, the sound system once more activated, "Are you ready to make history?"

"Make history how?" Jason was pleading for information while everyone else around him seemed totally aware of what Spinelli was talking about.

The Hunters either didn't hear him asking for enlightenment or they simply were too caught up in the excitement of the moment to bother explaining anything to him. Like the rest of the crowd they were clapping and yelling their approval, even the reserved Colonel shouted out, "That's a lad! We'll put Port Charles on the map tonight!"

"Okay, the Jackal needs your help, Port Charles. Are you up for the task?" Jason had never heard Spinelli sound like this, so confident, so in control of extracting the responses he wanted from this enormous crowd he held in the palm of his invisible hand.

"Yes!" The word was roared as though from one enormous throat.

Mimi caught sight of Jason's baffled and unsure face and flashed him a smile of pure unalloyed joy. "Isn't this fun?" She mouthed at him though she might have shouted it at the top of her lungs for all he knew. It was impossible to hear anything in the morass of sound surrounding him.

"Fellow citizens of our fair city," Spinelli was speaking again and Jason felt a dazed sense of gratitude toward his roommate. When Spinelli was talking the crowd listened and was reasonably quiet considered the number of people present and how his prior words had succeeded in provoking a frenzy of emotions. "We need a count down, just as will be happening in our sister city to the south a week from tonight when they proceed to drop the famous crystal apple at the dot of midnight. You will be the human metronome that shall usher Port Charles into the forefront of synchronized Christmas displays, where it shall shine unchallenged by any such other attempts throughout this great nation of ours and indeed the world at large. You will be able to tell your grandchildren about this night and how you participated and made it all possible!"

Jason tried to brace himself for the next onslaught of sound that greeted Spinelli's over the top announcement. The crowd cheered vociferously and he cynically wondered what they might have left to give when they actual event-whatever it might be-started. He grinned as he watched Mimi actually jumping up and down, her bruised foot forgotten, as she beamed at Brock who indulgently smiled back at her childlike glee in a more restrained manner.

"Ready," Spinelli was back and this time the crowd was dead silent as they stood stock still determined to do this countdown right and make him and the nation proud of them, "Set, Go!"

"10!" They shouted

"9!" They screamed in perfect unison

"8!" They were unstoppable.

"7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2…" Jason found himself counting at the top of his voice as he followed some atavistic urge to be one with his tribe.

"1!" They were in total synchrony.

For the briefest of moments, total quietude reigned as the last reverberations of the final digit died away. In that short, almost immeasurable span of time, Jason's brain again began questioning this surreal event he was an unexpected participant in by forming the words, 'What the hell…' The mental sentence was never completed as the silent, star studded, crystal cold night was ruptured by a combined onslaught of lights and sound which simultaneously assaulted Jason's unprepared eyes and ears.

The music of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra was flooding the street in waves of electronic synthesized notes. The piece was 'Wizards in Winter' and while Jason was unacquainted either with the band or the specific song, he seemed to be the only one on the entire street in such a state of ignorance. He looked over at Mimi and Brock and they, along with every other person in his line of sight, were staring at the façade of Harborview Tower Number One, their faces transfixed with delight as their bodies swayed with the music.

If it were just the music that would probably be enough sensory overload on its own for Jason but there were the lights as well. Lights flashed everywhere, up and down the building leaving faded images of red, gold, white, blue and green on his retinas for brief, incalculable moments of darkness which were immediately followed by some other part of the building being lit. The lights were progressive, tracing a fast flowing repetitive pattern. They started by outlining the glass front doors of the lobby, then the trees and shrubs standing guard by the front steps were illuminated. With each dramatically emphasized pause in the music the lights snuck up the building illustrating new designs and displays.

The entranced crowd exclaimed in a never ending mesmerized series of "Oohs" and "aahs" as further lights and shapes and even words were revealed as the lights climbed ever upward. There was a vertical 'Merry Christmas' running from what looked like the second to the tenth floors and on the facing side was a tasteful blue and white menorah with 'Happy Chanukah' scrolled throughout the flickering candles.

Up and up it went, the music crashing and achieving wavelike crescendos of sound followed by a tiptoeing piano melody with a strong percussive thrust underlying it all. There was Santa Claus suspended in space, waving, before he cut to darkness and was replaced by a glittering gold angel, framed in silhouette, blowing her trumpet to glory.

The display became more and more complex and elaborate as the lights traveled up the building and the crowd suspended its reaction. The yells and screams of approbation stilled, as one by one people quieted and shushed their neighbors. Thousands of people waited with bated breath for the finale. It came in an awe inspiring rush of frenetic notes as the entire side of the building lit up in the shape of a giant Christmas tree that suspended out over the darkened street to create a three dimensional effect as though there were an actual tree there rather than a multitude of cleverly arranged strands of lights. The tree twinkled and glittered as frenzied lights raced up and down it, changing hue and sparkling out through the frosty night.

Jason's eyes irresistibly followed the line of lights up to the very top of the tower where an enormous radiant star danced through a spectrum of colors in counter balance to the tree below. Yet, even with such a dazzling spectacle before him, he couldn't miss the sight of several helicopters buzzing around the building. His excellent eyesight managed to pick out the logos of several local news stations painted on their fuselages. He sighed in exasperation at the idea of all the unsought attention being paid to his place of residence. He and Spinelli were going to have a conversation when this circus was over.

The light pattern ran twice and this time around there were several distinct differences from the first cycle. The lights on all the illuminated shrubbery were a different color and there were some new words such as 'Happy New Year' and 'Feliz Navidad' spelled out on the building's frontage. The angel and Santa were replaced by Frosty the Snowman and a giant red bell. Finally, right as the song came to a second conclusion, the star on top of the Christmas tree was replaced by a series of strobing spotlights in a myriad of colors that danced and intercut with one another as they illuminated the crowd down on the street.

As the last trenchant notes died down, the lights abruptly shut off and the street was cast back into silent darkness. There was no noise, no sound for a full ten seconds following the end of the show. Then a cacophony of clapping, whistling and raw throated screaming began. Jason was amazed to see demure Mimi Hunter place both her fingers in her mouth and let loose with a piercing whistle to demonstrate her appreciation. He looked down in bemusement at his own hands which were tingling as they applauded enthusiastically. It was a rare event that allowed Jason Morgan's emotions to override his dislike of any sort of public display of feeling.

Now as an addendum to the clapping and the cheering, everyone began to stamp their feet as there were accompanying shouts of "Bravo!" and "Come Out!" and even a few "Damians!" Jason presumed these last calls must have originated from the building's residents as they were the only people who called Spinelli by his given name.

"Look!" Someone shouted, "He's coming out!"

As one, the crowd, Jason and the Hunters included, craned their necks and looked up at the building. Jason spied the balcony doors of his own penthouse open and watched as a shyly hesitant Spinelli stepped through them. He felt a lump form in his throat followed by the sharp prickle of tears, which he furiously blinked away, as he watched this amazing boy who was his roommate, his friend, his protégé step out and look down at the crowd which he had so fully bewitched.

They roared their goodwill and praise. Jason watched one of the helicopters swoop in low and photograph him. He winced unhappily at the concept that these pictures would soon be appearing on the local news stations. Spinelli just stood there, frozen and stunned, as the noise of the crowd washed over him.

Finally, they quieted, as a form of lassitude settled upon them but their faces remained upturned and expectant. Spinelli raised a microphone to his mouth and his voice spilled forth from the strategically placed sound system. "Um, tis I, the Jackal, Ace of Cyberspace." Gone was the self-assured voice of the technical, behind the scenes wizard to be replaced by the much less confident tones of a socially awkward, young twenty-something.

Jason's jaw clenched while his hands of their own volition formed fists as he scanned the crowd looking for any hecklers, anyone who dared to snicker or poke fun at the genius who had just provided such stellar entertainment. The Master wasn't going to stand for anyone taking potshots at his grasshopper. He needn't have bothered to adopt such a defensive posture, Spinelli's audience was entirely spellbound, eager to hear whatever he might have to say.

"Tonight, with your cooperation and attendance at this inaugural event of synchronized holiday lights and music we have achieved one for the record books. It is the first time that a fully choreographed, computerized light display has been done on such a large scale, on a skyscraper in fact. So, shake hands with your neighbor, pat them on the back, hug them and give yourself a round of applause for you…we…have done it. Congratulations, Port Charles!"

Once again the crowd let loose with raucous whoops of elation as they took Spinelli's advice. Individuals turned to their friends, their neighbors, the strangers standing next to them and hugged them or shook hands as they wished each other "Merry Christmas!" or exclaimed jubilantly "We did it!"

Mimi and Brock exchanged a hug and a kiss and then Mimi beckoned for Jason to come to her. She embraced him tightly, whispering in his ear, "He's something our boy, isn't he?"

Jason looked down at her seeing the suspiciously overly bright eyes of someone trying not to cry and nodded his head in agreement. All he could manage in reply was a choked, "Yeah" because he couldn't trust his voice to say anything further without losing his stone cold demeanor. Tilting his head he looked back up at the balcony but Spinelli was gone and the exterior doors to his home were once again sealed against the prying eyes of the press.

The show was over and the crowd began to disperse, to drift away in formless groups of friends, families, and couples who had all braved the cold of a Port Charles December night to see history being made. Jason looked down with solicitude at Mimi who was gamely limping toward the entrance to the Towers. Without preamble, he scooped her up and carried her toward the front doors which Brock held open for them to pass through.

"Jason," Mimi scolded him weakly, "Put me down! I'm not an invalid."

He simply ignored her protest and waited in silence alongside Brock for the arrival of the elevator. Mimi sighed, "Well, then if you insist on behaving like Sir Galahad then I wish to thank you for your chivalry as well as Damian for the gift he shared with all of this evening. Will you join Brock and me for Christmas dinner tomorrow? That is if you have no other engagements," she added hastily realizing that her invitation was exceedingly last minute.

"Yes, do old chap," Brock urged him just as the elevator doors opened and he ushered Jason and his wife into the car. "We'd love to have you and young Damian, liven up the place a bit, what."

Jason looked sternly down at the white haired woman in his arms, "On one condition," he said, shaking his head in order to forestall whatever she was thinking of saying in dispute, "You stay off that foot and you don't cook."

"Capital idea, Morgan. Like your thinking on that, indeed I do." The Colonel was practically effusive in his endorsement of Jason's caveat and the mob enforcer raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Mimi glared at her husband, "Brock doesn't like my cooking," she complained, "I've had to listen to this same speech for over forty years now. Though, looking on the bright side, it has meant a lot more restaurant meals and a lot fewer dishes in my life." She smiled ruefully at her husband who took her hand and kissed it gallantly just as the elevator arrived at the Hunter's floor.

"Spinelli and I will get the food," Jason promised as he carried Mimi into the Hunter's apartment and placed her gently on the couch. "Speaking of Spinelli, I better get upstairs and see how he's doing. This was quite a night for him."

Mimi called out to him as he reached the door, "We'll see you tomorrow around three or so then and thank you for bringing me home, Jason. My foot is rather sore. Oh, make sure you tell Damian how proud you are of him. It will mean far more to him than any of those other more effusive accolades."

Jason smiled at her, "I will," he assured her. "Make sure she stays off that foot, Colonel," he said from the doorway.

"Will do, lad and Merry Christmas to you."

"Merry Christmas, Jason," Mimi called after him.

Jason opened the door to the penthouse with something approaching trepidation. He wasn't sure what he would find on the other side and was slightly startled to walk into his living room and find it no different in appearance than on any other day of the year. He didn't know exactly what he had expected. Where Spinelli and one of his projects were involved it was difficult to predict a particular outcome. He had steeled himself to see anything from cables trailing all over the floor connected to amplifiers and speakers like a concert stage, to a room looking like decorators gone wild with a fluorescent Christmas tree blinking wildly and carols blasting.

The one thing he hadn't prepared for was the absolute undistinguished normality of the room. There was a lamp on an end table casting a soft glow over the muted colors of the room and that was all the illumination to be seen. The room was empty of technical equipment and seasonal décor-tasteful or otherwise. It was certainly most conspicuously empty of human habitation, namely one Damian Spinelli, impresario extraordinaire.

"Spinelli," he called out cautiously as he tossed his keys on the desk, their fall making a sharp metallic sound at odds with the hushed, almost somber silence that reigned over the penthouse.

This was stranger than anything he could have envisioned. He knew the kid had to be around somewhere. He'd been out on the balcony speaking to the adoring masses like royalty or a rock star not over a quarter of an hour ago. Jason felt a most peculiar internal sensation; it was almost as though he were letdown to find his living space in its usual impeccable ordered state rather than a riotous mess.

Jason turned to climb the stairs and then headed with determination toward Spinelli's pink lair. There was light shining from underneath the door and he knocked feeling oddly diffident, as though he might be intruding on his roommate's privacy to some unwelcome degree.

"Yes?" The voice was muffled and it was impossible to determine anything about Spinelli's mood from that single syllable.

"Spinelli, it's Jason. Can I come in?"

"Stone Cold…" This time Jason's finely tuned ear distinctly heard the uncertainty in the hacker's voice. There was a pause and then he spoke again, his tone resigned and perhaps even sad. "Of course, the Jackal's room is but an extension of your fiefdom, the Casa de la Stone Cold as it were."

Jason turned the knob and stepped into a part of the penthouse he rarely visited. He didn't go into Spinelli's room, nor did Spinelli go into his. They lived together but almost all of their interactions, social and otherwise, were confined to the communal living areas. It was an unspoken rule that their bedrooms were sacrosanct except to the cleaning staff and to each other only by specific invitation.

Tonight, as Jason looked around, he knew he had discovered the nerve center for the complex light and sound show he and a large portion of Port Charles had just witnessed. Here was all the equipment he had been expecting-cables snaking across the floor, speakers and amplifiers, and what appeared to be a sound synthesizer. Additionally, there were five or six laptops all with their screens open and humming quietly as a videotaped loop of the light show ran continuously on their screens sans sound.

"So, this is where you controlled it from," Jason said as he took it all in, not understanding what all the equipment did but getting a general sense of the effort and ability involved in coordinating the event.

Spinelli nodded his head, he was standing in-between his bed and the bank of computers. He was twisting his hands together apprehensively and would only look at Jason through nervous, upward glances which produced flashes of green eyes filtered through his shaggy bangs. "You saw it then?" He asked, nervously, his voice almost inaudible.

"I saw it," Jason said frowning, not understanding what was making Spinelli so upset.

He had thought he would be so excited that it would be Jason's job to calm him down, to keep him from bouncing off the walls as he explained in excruciatingly boring detail each technical aspect of his triumph. Instead, he was behaving like someone called on the principal's carpet and told that based on his most recent pranks he was going to be expelled. Suddenly comprehension dawned as Jason realized that was precisely how Spinelli felt. He smiled inwardly for a moment as he contemplated playing along for a while. After all, it would serve the kid right for doing all this without telling him.

"Is Stone Cold displeased with his grasshopper?" Spinelli flipped his unruly hair away from his eyes and looked directly at Jason for the first time since he had entered the pink room. It was clear he had decided his fate was probably already determined and that he was going to face the music with dignity.

Jason suddenly lost his resolve to tease his roommate. It would just be cruel and he could already see Mimi's censorious eyes in his mind when she heard what he had done to Spinelli tomorrow. Besides it was Christmas and the kid had done something pretty damn amazing.

Still, he was hurt and a little piqued that apparently every resident of the Towers, never mind the city at large, knew what Spinelli had planned but that Jason had only found out by pure chance. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asked it as mildly as possible, both curiosity and the slightest edge of wounded feelings evident in his tone.

Spinelli shrugged and looking back down at the carpet said, "The Jackal should indeed have informed his Master as to his intent. He thought perchance he might forbid it."

Jason sighed, "So, you went behind my back?"

Spinelli gazed at him, his eyes troubled, "Indeed, the Jackal acted in a deceptive manner and is aware that such transgressions must be accompanied by appropriate penalties. When would Stone Cold like me to vacate the premises?"

"Vacate the premises…?" Jason shook his head as though he couldn't have heard correctly, "Who said anything about your moving out?"

Spinelli stared at him, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks, "Then…you don't… that is to say…I can stay?" His eyes were aglow with happiness and he dashed toward Jason his arms out flung as he clearly telegraphed his intention of hugging the older man.

Jason held his right arm out stiffly, the palm facing Spinelli who abruptly stopped, the blush now entirely suffusing his cheeks. "The Jackal forgets himself, my humblest apologies," he said but nothing could negate the smile on his face. The balance of not hugging Jason versus not being kicked out of the penthouse clearly still came down in the positive column of life's occurrences.

"Of course, I don't want you to move out, Spinelli. What you did here tonight, it was…" he searched for a word that could truly communicate what he was feeling, "stupendous," there that ought to meet with Spinelli's need for reassurance. "Still," and as much as he didn't want to do this part, Jason knew he had to, "You shouldn't have done it without letting me know. You know how I value my privacy and I have to be discreet. Yet, tonight there were news helicopters out there taking pictures of you on the balcony."

Spinelli was once more dejected, his posture slumped as he mumbled, "I'm truly sorry, Stone Cold, in my impulsiveness, I didn't think."

Jason rapidly covered the rest of the space between them and placed a consoling hand on the downcast hacker's shoulder. "Spinelli that is exactly why you should have told me, so we could have coordinated things and made sure all eventualities were discussed and covered. That is what partners do, they supplement each other's strengths."

Spinelli was nodding his head in vigorous agreement, "Indeed, the Jackal clearly sees the error of his ways, Stone Cold. I am the ideas man and you are good at implementing the strategy and tactics of the mission. Next year, we'll work on this together from start to finish."

"Next year?" Jason had been listening indulgently to Spinelli's description of their relationship until his last sentence.

"Yes, Stone Cold," Spinelli was speaking in his usual rapid fire manner, "I have been contacted to do this project again next year by the Port Charles City Fathers but this time they wish me to decorate the downtown civic buildings-the justice center, the post office and so forth.

"Oh," Jason was immeasurably relieved that he didn't have to disappoint the kid because there was no way he could ever let this happen again at Harborview Towers. On the other hand, the city was free to use Spinelli's formidable skills. 'As long as they treat him right,' he amended mentally. "That's quite an honor," he said proud of Spinelli's recognition. "So, do you want to show me how all this works?" He gestured around the room at the various pieces of equipment.

Spinelli's face creased into the broadest smile Jason could ever remember seeing, "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Jason said gruffly, "Also, what I want to know is how you got all those lights up there in the first place." He couldn't tell Spinelli how much that particular concern had been at the back of his head ever since the broad scope of the placement of the lights had become apparent to him.

"The Jackal used a window washing apparatus to place the exterior lights. Johnny Zacchara helped and the Colonel supervised. Additionally, the other residents pitched in with advice about colors and themes and so forth. It was a community effort." Spinelli spoke enthusiastically, his hands gesticulating wildly as they supplemented his words.

While Spinelli was demonstrating various aspects of the complexities of the system he had established to run the program, his cell phone rang. Jason was ecstatic to have the lecture, most of which was incomprehensible to him, cut off prematurely. He sat on the bed patiently waiting for Spinelli to finish the brief phone call.

"That was the mob prince himself, it would appear the Jackal's attempts at holiday cheer are on the news." Spinelli picked up a remote and turned on the flat screen television hanging on his wall.

It was the lead story on station after station, replayed over and over again. The various viewpoints of the news footage were an amalgam of shots from both ground crews and the news helicopters. The show came across impressively on the screen but neither the music nor the lights gave full justice to the experience of seeing it all firsthand.

Spinelli gasped when he saw the aerial views that showed the extent of the crowd on the street below. "So…many…people," he stammered out in disbelief.

Jason looked at him in amused puzzlement, "Surely you must have seen them when you were out on the balcony?"

Spinelli shook his head vehemently, he looked as though he might be sick, "The Jackal had his eyes closed the entire time."

Jason couldn't help it, he laughed. Only Spinelli would produce something of this technical magnitude and then be so overcome by stage fright that he couldn't even enjoy the fruits of his labor. "Tell you what," he said, standing up from the bed and swiping his hand through Spinelli's hair as he switched off the television, "Why don't we have a private showing for a few select guests tomorrow night. Can you run this thing from downstairs?"

Spinelli nodded his head eagerly, "Now that all the glitches are out, it can be placed on a loop. The Jackal would dearly love to see the result of his labors from the correct vantage point."

"Well, it's settled then. Now, you've had a big day, Spinelli, you should get some rest. I'm pretty beat myself. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Stone Cold."

Jason walked down the hall to his room, faintly marveling at how Spinelli never ceased to surprise him. As he turned the handle preparing to enter his bedroom, the faint strains of a soft, reverent rendition of 'Silent Night' drifted through the open door of the pink room.

Author's Note: I wrote this piece while actually listening to 'Wizards of Winter' in an effort to somewhat synchronize my internal vision of the lights and the music. If you go to youtube and type in 'Wizards of Winter' you will find several examples of homeowners that compete in annual competitions of computer synchronized music and light displays.


End file.
